


Interference

by Rosawyn



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation, X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Mythology/Religion, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Bajor, Blood and Injury, Canon Related, Cardassians, Changelings, Doctors & Physicians, Female Character In Command, Fictional Religion & Theology, First Impressions, First Meetings, Gen, IN SPACE!, Injury, Major Character Injury, Military Ranks, Military Science Fiction, Not Canon Compliant, Occupation of Bajor, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, Prayer, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Science Fiction, Spaceships, Spiritual, Telepathy, War, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, it's only slash if you want it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Star Trek!AU of X-Men.</p><p>'“I can sense him, Captain.  I can find him, and you can beam us both back.”  The Lieutenant's piercing blue eyes were practically incandescent with his desire to help.</p><p>“We have no guarantees here, Mister Xavier.  I cannot order you to put yourself in danger.”</p><p>“But you can give me permission.”'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interference

Captain Moira MacTaggert of the USS Westchester sat on the edge of her seat, her body tense as she watched the Cardassian escape pods spill out of the ship on the view screen like a swarm of wasps from a burning hive. It didn't take long. “Is everyone clear?” she asked.

“The Cardassians all appear to have evacuated, Captain,” Ensign Raven Darkholme responded. “But I'm still detecting a life-sign on the Cardassian ship. It appears to be Bajoran.” She looked up from her console. “All the escape pods have launched.”

“Can we get a transporter lock on him?” They weren't supposed to interfere in the Cardassian-Bajoran hostilities, but rescuing survivors from either side was well within her jurisdiction as a neutral Federation observer.

“There's too much radiation interference.” Ensign Darkholme's voice was tight with frustration.

“Dammit!” Captain MacTaggert swore softly, slamming her fist down on the arm rest of her chair. Damn Bajoran terrorists and their suicide missions.

Lieutenant Charles Xavier swivelled around in his chair at the science station. “You would be able to get a lock if he had a Starfleet com badge.”

“Of course, but I don't see how that's relevant.” Darkholme wrinkled her Changeling's brow at her adopted brother.

Lieutenant Xavier stood to his feet. “Captain: permission to beam over to the Cardassian ship.”

“What?” Sometimes, MacTaggert really couldn't follow how her half-Betazoid officer's mind worked.

“I can sense him, Captain. I can find him, and you can beam us both back.” The Lieutenant's piercing blue eyes were practically incandescent with his desire to help.

“We have no guarantees here, Mister Xavier. I cannot order you to put yourself in danger.”

“But you can give me permission.” The flash of smug victory on his boyishly handsome face was mildly infuriating, but they were running out of time. Captain MacTaggert could consider the issue of his attitude later.

“Yes.” As she watched her science officer sprint from the bridge, Captain MacTaggert sent a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening that she wasn't sending her science officer to his death. “Keep a lock on his com-badge, Ensign. We're going to pull him out of there with or without the Bajoran. Understood?”

“Of course, Captain. Understood.”

 

* * *

 

As Charles ran through the hallways of the small scout ship towards the transporter room, he sent a quick wave of reassurance to his sister's mind. She was probably worrying about him—no doubt the Captain had ordered her to pull him out alone should he fail to locate the Bajoran fast enough. He would have sent a more coherent message, but his mind was currently overwhelmed by the power of the Bajoran's rage, pain, and desperation. He felt drawn to the other mind, as though pulled by a magnet.

 _Help me. Please._ Charles stumbled and caught himself on the door frame as he entered the transporter room. Usually, he didn't sense verbal thoughts like that unless he was specifically trying to, or unless the other person—usually Raven—was intentionally sending them to him. This was like someone screaming in his mind.

Transporter Chief Azazel raised one eyebrow in his direction. “You alright, Lieutenant?”

Charles merely nodded as he steadied himself, eyes intent on the holographic schematics of the Cardassian ship in front of Azazel. The alien's odd appearance was often distracting to those unused to him, but having grown up with a Changeling seemed to have rendered Charles immune. After having studied the schematic for a moment, Charles closed his eyes briefly, breathing deeply, then opened them again and pointed. “There. Get me as close as you can to that point. On the same deck, if at all possible.”

Hopping onto the transporter pad, he gave Azazel a quick nod. Assuming he understood the unfamiliar vessel as well as he hoped he did, Charles should materialize reasonably close to the Bajoran. He didn't bother pausing to consider the possibility that there might be any number of unexpected obstacles in his way. This simply had to work.

His body shimmered out of existence and rematerialized in darkness, surrounded by smoke and the shuddering sounds of metal pulling itself apart. The vibrations from the floor made his teeth hurt. The pull of the Bajoran's mind was much stronger at this proximity, and for a few terrifying milliseconds the sickening mix of emotions seemed to assault him from every direction at once. But there it was again, the thread of semi-coherent thought in the midst of it all: _Please. Help me_.

Charles felt a distinct direction in that. And thankfully, it seemed as though the direction was neither up nor down from his current position; he had been right about the deck after all.

Navigating the corridors of the unfamiliar ship with only his telepathy and the vaguely remembered schematics was somewhat akin to being dropped into a hedge maze with only a compass, but Charles didn't care. He was focused too strongly on the mind in pain to think of much else. The disorientation he felt upon reaching an impassable wall and needing to backtrack was nearly inconsequential in comparison to the never-ending torrent of agony and the repeated cry of, _Help me, please. Please help me_.

In the end, it didn't take Charles all that long to find the Bajoran. He was slumped against a wall, blood drying on his clothes and tears drying on his angular face. The metal of his earring caught the dim light as he turned his head towards Charles and opened his eyes slightly, blinking as though unable to focus. The basic medic training in the back of Charles' mind ticked off the boxes: blood-loss, mild to moderate dehydration, probable smoke-inhalation, radiation sickness. It was that last one that worried Charles the most as he fell to one knee at the Bajoran's side.

The wave of wary hostility Charles felt from the other man was a warning before the man jerked away from him. “I won't hurt you,” Charles said calmly, sending a gentle wave of calm and goodwill to the Bajoran's mind. “Please, let me help you.”

The Bajoran still looked confused and unsure, but he didn't pull away again as Charles took his arm with one hand and used the other to tap his com-badge. “Xavier to Westchester. I've got him. Energize.”

As they rematerialized in a shower of white-blue speckles of light, Charles felt the Bajoran tense in his grasp, and then the man was staggering to his feet and pushing Charles away. “Where am I?” he rasped. “Who are you?”

“My name is Charles Xavier. I'm a Starfleet officer.” Charles tried to project a sense of calm and safety.

The Bajoran's gaze snapped to meet his, eyes burning. “You're in my head! Stop trying to manipulate me!”

Charles spread his hands at his sides. “I'm sorry. I'm a telepath. I meant no offence.”

Security got to the transporter room at the same time as the medics, causing a minor traffic jam in the doorway. Charles had been dimly aware of Azazel calling them moments earlier. Lieutenants Summers and Lee had their phasers drawn, pointing them at the Bajoran who was backed against the wall, his eyes wild as though expecting attack from every angle.

“There will be no need for the phasers,” Charles said with an air of authority in his voice. “He's merely frightened.”

It seemed his crew mates trusted his Betazoid senses in this matter, for they lowered the weapons and allowed Doctor Hank McCoy and his team to take over.

McCoy pushed his glasses up his nose as he walked toward the Bajoran. “I'm a doctor,” he said, making a point to appear as non-threatening as possible as he prepared a hypo-spray. Not that the timid human could have appeared very threatening if he tried. “Let me help.”

“Fine,” the Bajoran snapped. “Just keep that telepath away from me.”

Even with his Starfleet training, the words still stung. Perhaps even more so because he could feel the savage emotions behind them—the Bajoran's mind was much harder to block out than any he had encountered before. Charles took a breath to calm himself then walked quietly out of the room.

As much as he wanted—nearly felt compelled—to honour the Bajoran's wishes, Charles knew he had to go to sickbay himself to be treated for radiation exposure. So he headed straight there from the transporter room and had just gotten his injection as Hank brought his new patient in on a stretcher. It would seem the doctor had sedated him, so it was unlikely he was aware of Charles' brief proximity.

 

* * *

 

Late that night when Charles was relaxing with a book before bed, Hank called him.

“Charles, I hope I didn't wake you.”

“I was just reading, Hank.” Charles closed his book and set it aside. “What can I do for you?”

“The Bajoran you rescued from the Cardassian ship is asking to see you.” Hank paused and the sound of a soft, slightly embarrassed laugh came over the com link. “He hasn't told me his name. Says it's none of my business. But he's responding well to treatment, and I believe he's up to having a visitor.”

Even from their different locations on the ship, Charles felt the unspoken sense of, ' _So long as you don't upset him too much_ ,' from Hank's mind. “If you'd rather come in the morning,” Hank was saying, but Charles cut him off.

“I'll be right there.”

He felt the Bajoran's mind calling to him once again. Less pained and distressed than it had been, warmer. He could block it out if he tried, but he saw no reason to.

 

* * *

 

As he entered the compact sickbay, aware that McCoy was in his adjoining office without needing to look, Charles saw the Bajoran reclining on one of the narrow beds. He looked up at the sound of the door, and their eyes met. The pale bluish grey eyes were much softer than they had been before when regarding the half-Betazoid science officer. His mind was generally calm, with a warm sense of gratitude and a gentle undercurrent of regret. When Charles paused in standard “at ease” stance just inside the doors, the Bajoran spoke. “Please come in.”

He pushed himself into a more upright sitting position and looked down at his folded hands on top of the Starfleet medical blanket, glancing up once again when Charles was at his side. “I needed to apologize...for how I treated you earlier, and the things I said.”

“You were injured,” Charles said simply. McCoy had clearly done his job well, as Charles could hardly tell to look at him now.

“I was. But that's no excuse.”

Charles hadn't said it was one, though it was clearly an extenuating circumstance. “I'm glad to see you're feeling better.”

“Yes, thanks to you and your Starfleet doctor.” He extended a hand in the human fashion of greeting. “My name is Lennsher Eram. You may call me Eram, if you wish.”

“Eram.” Charles couldn't help the bright smile that broke out on his face as he shook the offered hand. It would seem Eram's name was Charles' business—or perhaps the Bajoran was simply in a better mood. “I don't know if you remember from before—”

Eram cut him off. “Xavier—Charles Xavier, Starfleet officer.”

Charles felt his smile grow wider. “You can call me Charles.”

Eram looked away, frowning slightly. “Your doctor told me that you risked your own life to save me, Charles, because your transporters couldn't get a lock with all the interference. You found me...with your mind?”

“I sensed you, yes. I heard you calling out; asking for help.”

Eram smiled ruefully as he looked down. When he spoke, his voice was so low Charles could barely hear it. “I was praying.”

“Oh.” Charles wasn't sure how to respond to that. He'd accidentally overheard snatches of others' prayers before, once or twice. It wasn't something he meant to do; it always felt like a terrible invasion of privacy. “I didn't realize. I'm sorry—”

“No.” Eram grasped Charles' wrist, still looking down as he spoke. “I thought I was going to die, alone, and for such a futile gesture. I wanted another chance. I wasn't sure if the Prophets would hear me, but I was desperate.”

His grip on Charles' wrist tightened as he finally looked up. There were tears in Eram's eyes as their gazes met. “They sent me you.”

Charles didn't think he'd ever been the answer to anyone's prayers before, and he wasn't sure how to respond. His mind was reeling with his own racing thoughts and the strength of the emotions radiating from Eram. His words felt terribly inadequate when he finally spoke. “I'm just glad I was able to get to you in time.”

“As am I.” Eram's smile was broad and genuine, the first real smile Charles had seen from him.

**Author's Note:**

> The name “Eram” was constructed by combining the name “Erik” with the “M” from Magneto's other canon aliases: Max, Magnus, and Michael. Considering his apparent love for the letter, I don't think he'd mind. ;)


End file.
